He was in pieces as he heard the news of his parent's death.

He was only 8 when he got the devastating news.

Rather than think about superficial fixtures of his previous life and whether his toys would still be in his belongings if he peered into his tiny suitcase or if the few friends his brother had made would stay in touch now that they were destitute, he thought of things that one would not expect at his young age. Where would they live?, he wondered. He knew of many orphans torn apart by the foster care system. Siblings were separated, that was standard protocol. Was he and his brother to be cast away by a distant relative or adopted? And a greater question lay ahead, was his life to be a tragedy after another? Would this mark the beginning of things to come?...

He bawled his eyes out and could not stop.

"I just want my mommy...", he cried out in pain to the universe.

"I know child, but they are gone", the strange lady told him. She said she was a social worker and worked for the state.

"Do you have any family that can take care of you now?", she asked as if reciting from memory.

"No", he said sniffing, "I don't think so." Remembering something his family told him to say should they ask of familial connections, "My parents were immigrants. They left family back there when they came."

"Alright, child. I'll come back after I get more papers. Then we're going for a little ride, ok?" she whispered into his ear.

He barely registered her comment and knew that from now on, his brother was all he had in this world. He had to hold on to family no matter what.

Even if he had to run away.